


watch

by k8 (paintedmaypole)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-11
Updated: 2002-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedmaypole/pseuds/k8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's not a Britney. She's a porn star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	watch

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Katie and Dre for the beta.

Running backstage, the encore complete. People yelling, your eyes blinking, watering slightly from the flash bulbs. Lance and JC ahead, far ahead, Chris shouting something at you, but you can't hear.

Running towards the buses, onto the bus. Joey breathing heavy behind you. The door closes. You head towards the back, pulling up your shirt, throwing it onto the floor and rubbing your palm over an itch. The bus's engine starts, you loosen the tie on your pants, clutching the string between your hands.

You look behind you, at Joey. You lick your lips and smile at him. He's grinning back, wide. He's rubbing a blue towel through his hair and the ends stick up in all directions. You head towards the bathroom, grab a wash cloth, let go of the string on your pants and leave them in a heap in the corner, next to the toilet.

When you come back out, Joey's on the couch watching television; music videos. He's scratching at his leg, half watching the TV, half watching you. He's hairy. Not excessively, down the back hairy, but enough. A lot. You never expected to be able to sleep with hairy.

Joey sighs, reaches his arm out, "Get over here." Pulls you down with him, half on him, half between his legs. You're facing the TV and Britney's concert is on. No. The light on the VCR is blinking and a tape of Britney's concert is on.

You lean up, start to push away. This is not something to watch without pants on, or at least a pillow. Which Joey knows, Britney knows, they all know just from watching you squirm with each and every video. But Joey's arm comes around your stomach, pulls you back down. Joey, in your ear, breath hot on your neck, "no. Watch."

She's not a Britney. She's a porn star.

The dancers surround her, tie her up, Joey licks your shoulder. His arms tighten around your stomach, his tongue is wide and pushes into your skin. You think he'd be good with girls, that girls would love sleeping with him. You think, you'd bet money, he's got "the skill", but you don't know really. You've never slept with another boy for a cross comparison.

When Britney gets ready to fly over the audience she wears a green harness over her jeans; one strap around her waist, two others wrapping around her thighs. And Joey presses his hands down, hard, on your skin when she lifts into the air. Runs his fingers over the crease in your underwear where your legs meet your hips. Slides his palms around and under you, lifts you up slightly, an inch above him, sets you back down so he's there, hard, underneath you. Twitching slightly.

You move a little, up and down slightly, to feel him there. To keep him uncomfortable. One hand palm down on the couch, the other hand palm down on his leg. Fingers on his knee, the tips curling around his kneecap.

When she comes out in a jumpsuit, zipper pulled down low between her breasts, Joey rubs his finger down your chest in a line. There should be a sign on the screen, a tag on her neck, a belt buckle that says: unwrap me.

Joey's hands come back up to pinch your nipples. To scratch, just a little. He won't let you look at him. You turn your head to the right, you sit up slightly. You want to kiss his chin, but his arm comes back up.

"No. Watch."

He turns your head back to the television, two fingers resting along your jaw, another running up and down over your cock, smoothing out the creases in your underwear, slipping in so the tips of his fingers hit your skin.

She changes onstage. Pulls off a layer of clothing and he slides his hands into the elastic of your underwear and pushes it down and off onto the floor. He bites your shoulder, just a little.

 

Joey never stops touching you, his hands constantly moving. His palm pushes down along your waist, your hip, across your stomach, fingers stopping on either side of your crotch. Just to rest there, not to touch. Just because he can.

Hand in your hair, pushing at the back of your neck. Moving you along with a slow song. Moving your head from side to side as hands push up Britney's shoulder, Britney's neck, Britney's cheek. Hot air on your cheek.

Reaching down quickly to squeeze along the base of your cock and whispering, "Don't come", in your ear. "Not yet."

"Fuck."

You're hard. He won't let you move your arms now. He won't let you turn around. You lick your lips and make a noise, something. There's a buzzing in your head. Joey laughs quietly and sucks hard, a small circle on your left shoulder.

"Shhhh."

 

The concert is ending. You like this part, the water. Wet Britney is a very very very sexy Britney. You wonder if she'd make out with a girl for you. You'd want to watch them in a shower. Then Joey's moving again. Reaching up to the shelf, for hand lotion, squeezing some onto his fingers.

She's singing. The last time you spoke with her on the phone you jerked off. Joey has his finger inside you. Two fingers inside you. Three. You're pushing your hips up.

Four fingers.

She has her head back. Her jeans are wet. When the two of you go swimming you like to slide your thigh up between her legs. To lean her back against the side of the pool and put your mouth on her chest; half of your lips on the fabric of her bathing suit, half on her skin.

Joey's moving his left hand down again. His thumb and fingers wrapping around the base of your cock. He keeps his fingers loose on your skin. The other hand, the four fingers still inside of you, curl a little.

Oh.

Britney's looking at the camera. She's tilting her chin, raising her arms up and moving her hips. Left, right, left, right. Yours move up and down, little uneven jerks into the air. Joey slides/pushes his hand in and out, in and out, and the hand on your crotch moves away. He lifts it up to your mouth.

"Lick it."

That part is easy, waiting isn't.

He wraps his hand back around you--so much wider than Britney's. He pulls up slowly, squeezes just a little, and slides over on the couch. Slides you up, onto his hips more, and suddenly his fingers are even deeper.

His other hand is warm and tight around your cock. Your hips are jerking up, up into the air, and Britney is licking her finger, smirking, as Joey puts his mouth on your ear and tells you, "okay, now, yes."

 

You're sweaty again. Your legs stick to the couch and it makes a noise when you move and pull them away. Joey has the blue towel. He reaches over to wipe at your stomach, but you push his hand away, turn around and straddle his legs. You push your hand down his side and pull down his underwear, but you're sitting too far up, so you leave it hooked over one of his ankles.

You run your hands up his legs and they're damp. You lean down and lick under his navel, on the left side of his penis and then underneath. You hum a little, something from Britney's concert.

Joey pulls one knee up, kicks the underwear off and you want to fuck him but then again you don't want to fuck him. You lick him again and you like the taste.

Britney hums when she does this. You just settle for taking him in your hand and sliding up to suck slowly on his shoulder. Squeezing once, twice, his hand wrapping around yours, his head tilted back. When he comes, you're still humming.


End file.
